


Night Breeze

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Sleepy Sex, Summer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-20 17:58:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16560551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: A collection of shorts, mainly fluff.





	1. Chapter 1

Jughead wakes to the rattle of pebbles, making him grin like a fool. He rolls out of bed, pads to the window, and pulls to open to see Betty, her upturned face pale in the dark. “Miss Cooper, this is a surprise.”

She disappears, a mysterious moth. Jughead races to the bathroom, squeezes out about a quart of toothpaste, and brushes madly. When he emerges from the towel Betty appears in the mirror and hugs him from behind.

Jughead grins and covers her hands with his. He walks them towards the tiny bedroom and collapses with her on the bed.

“Too hot for you at the Coopers?” Jughead pulls the sheets up over them. She’s wearing a t-shirt dress, and he’s only got on pajama bottoms.

“I lasted an hour before running here.”

By some twist of fate, FP’s trailer is the coolest spot in Riverdale, even in the worst of August. Betty’s house has central air, but the constant sun heats her room like an oven. In contrast the tiny dell where the trailer lies protects it from sunshine, and the largest chestnut tree in Sunnyside keeps the place shaded.

Betty twists in Jughead’s arms and settles herself more comfortably. “It feels like we’re on a boat. There’s a night breeze in this room, docile as a kitten and wild as a lioness.”

“Both at once?” He feels himself slip into slumber, amused by her sleepy chatter even in his dream.

“Exactly. Both at once.” A cat stretch, and she’s kissing his neck. It’s soft, so soft among the whir of a box fan and rattling blinds. “Here I’m almost chilly. In my room I was so hot I couldn’t think, but in your bed I have to cuddle up to stay warm.”

With a tiny hmm, Jughead turns her and spoons her. And it’s still a dream as he pulls up the soft jersey of her dress, touches the smooth swell of her hip, and pushes silk underwear to one side. And she’s wet, so wet as he kiss her neck and strokes, licks into her ear, lines himself up and slips home.

“Is this what you came here for?”

“Already told you. Came here for the breeze.”

He tugs her face towards his and smiles into their kiss. “Is that what they’re calling it now, those crazy kids?”

“My grumpy old man.” Betty rocks against him, entwines their fingers so they can play together where they’re connected. The swell of her sex. Him tucked inside.

He might not even remember this later, it’s so misty and beautiful. It will seem like it never happened.

But now there is a breeze, and a ringlet moon, and the girl in his bed. Betty, Betty Cooper: his girl.

 


	2. Rain and Windowseats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smallest Uber ever known to mankind, and Jughead has to share it with a golden goddess. (Meet-cute AU)

The Uber car is even smaller than the picture shows – not quite a smartcar but pretty close. Jughead climbs into the backseat, hugs his messenger bag, and prays no one else joins the ride.

It’s as if the heavens are mocking him. The next instant the driver, Olaf, comments that he’s got another fare.

Jughead suppresses a long, put-upon sigh as the Uber pulls up to an apartment awning. It’s raining so heavily he can’t see the other passenger until she climbs in, wearing baby pink of all things. Her coat, her umbrella – even her shoes are pink. And there isn’t a spot of mud on them, which Jughead thinks is unfair. He crosses his splattered Doc Martens and attempts to squash into the corner to give her more room.

“Betty?” Olaf sings from the front. “Hey, you two are going to the same destination. It is fate.”

‘Betty’ shoots Jughead a hunted look. “Quiet Mercy?” she whispers.

“Yeah.”

She nods. “That’s convenient, I suppose.”

He’s about to answer, but Olaf grinds the gears and shoots a hairpin curve. The speed makes Jughead lose his balance and fall on top of Betty.

Gabbling apologies, Jughead scooches as far away as possible from her. However, Olaf seems bent on throwing them together as the blasted driver careens around turns, winds through traffic, accelerates at sharp corners. Jughead’s kneecaps bonk against Betty’s legs several times. At one point he practically faceplants in her lap.

Eventually she tells him to stop saying sorry. “It’s just that if you keep apologizing, I might have to scream,” she adds. Her eyes are dark in the gloom of the afternoon, but they glow when he says Sorry for saying sorry too much.

“Now it’s just getting funny,” Betty adds.

“Is it starting to rain?” Jughead curses himself. Seriously, he’s squished into the tiniest seat known to mankind with a lovely woman and all he can talk about is the _weather?_

But she smiles, making those dark eyes glow with intelligence. “I actually love the rain.”

He perks up , seeing an opening. “I do too. The best is when you’re inside with a book and a really good cup of coffee, watching the drops race each other on the window. Even better if there are cookies involved.”

“Absolutely.” Betty launches into a description of an old house she used to visit, where there were windowseats with curtains to hide behind. “I used to read there for hours,” she concludes with an infectious laugh. “My mother would get furious and tell me I’d go blind.”

“For me it was under the sheets with a flashlight.” Jughead can’t believe this goddess is so easy to talk to. Toni has informed him that if he’s ever called up to go on Ellen DeGeneres he’d have to script out a conversation. Yet here he is, describing the first time he read the Melendy Quartet and the Mushroom Planet books.

“And Moomins,” Betty adds. “And Dracula. And Nancy Drew.”

“Nancy Drew!” Jughead is appalled. “Those books were written by a business conglomerate! Dorothy Keane never even existed to tap out ideas on an Underwood.”

“I know, but still – Nancy was so adventurous, so brave, so smart. Besides,” Betty adds, “there weren’t a lot of girl detectives to share that windowseat with me.”

“Huh.” He nods. “Guess I never thought of that. I mean you’ve got Miss Marple and Harriet Vane, but they were older. And English.”

“Kudos for knowing Harriet Vane, though.” Betty’s giggle is unleashed, and Jughead would do anything to hear it again.

Just as they reach this interesting juncture, Olaf pulls to the side. “Another passenger,” he announces. “And friend. Good money today.”

With mounting horror, Jughead sees a mountain of a man approach the Uber. And his friend…

“My gosh, he’s even bigger,” Betty murmurs.

They look at each other, and she nods slightly. “So Olaf,” Jughead brays. “Think Betty and I will hop out and let Mr. McKinley and Lord Everest take it from here, ha ha ha. But you can have the full fare.”

“And we’ll tip!” Betty chirps. “Twenty percent!”

As Olaf turns to frown at them, Lord Everest opens the door and attempts to insert one telephone-pole leg inside the miniscule space. Jughead seizes his messenger bag and Betty’s hand, slithers out between the two monolithic males, and hurries away from the car. She’s snuffling behind him with what sounds like smothered mirth.

When they stop, breathless, Betty leans against the city bricks and shakes with laughter. “Lord Everest!” she repeats. “Mr. McKinley!”

At that moment it begins to rain in earnest and Jughead is instantly soaked. He feels rain shower into his collar, his ears, and he’s certain it’s slithering down the back of his underpants.

“Coffee,” he declares.

#

“So.” Betty places her cup carefully in the saucer. “Quiet Mercy, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jughead draws in a long breath. “I, uh, actually I was hoping to go undercover and investigate some irregularities. There’s nothing big, but…”

“I’m doing the same thing!” Betty’s eyes grow huge, and impulsively she covers his hand with hers, fingers warm against his palm. “My plan…” She glances around the coffee shop and lowers her voice. “My plan was to go in as a prospective patient, do some interviews, see what I could drum up.”

“Get the lay of the land.” He nods. “Yeah, me too.”

“Should we be talking in code? You know, The eagle has landed and all that?”

“We could come up with a whole gumshoe lingo.” Jughead slides his gaze onto her face and adds, “It would require a time investment, though. Maybe some working dinners.”

“My investigative senses are tingling.” Betty knocks his elbow with hers. “Are you actually asking me out right now?”

Jughead whisper-shrieks and covers his mouth with both hands before pointing at her. “Date? You think I meant to insinuate something as mundane as a _date_? I’ll have you know I propose a series of planning sessions, those working dinners I just mentioned with Italian or French food, long walks in the park as we go over every step of our plan, the actual investigation which we’ll do together of course, not to mention the actual writing of the article.”

Betty’s mouth tucks into a dimply shape of disbelief. For a cold, shattering moment Jughead fears he’s said too much. Her lips part, and he braces himself for rejection.

“ _Series_ of articles,” she insists. “That’s what you meant to say, correct? Yes, I thought so. But I can’t say yes.”

Jughead slumps into his seat. The planned attack on Quiet Mercy is off. It’s raining outside, and his shoes are squishy. He’s lost his Uber, and this glorious vision of human sunshine has just turned him down. “Okay,” he mumbles.

“You never told me your name,” Betty adds primly. “I simply can’t work with a complete stranger.”

He feels the biggest, sappiest smile spread over his features. “Settle back in that windowseat,” Jughead orders. “That’s a story for a rainy day.”


End file.
